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THE ROMANCE OF JESSAMINE 
PLACE 






































































































































ELLA MILLER CHESHIRE 


% 







THE ROMANCE OF 
JESSAMINE PLACE 

AND OTHER STORIES 

BY 

ELLA MILLER CHESHIRE 

Author of “Children and What Qhey are Doing” 



Qha Christopher Publishing House 
Boston, U. S. A. 





Copyright 1924 

BY THE CHRISTOPHER PUBLISHING HOUSE 





W-9’24 


©C1A777S66 

? * 


DEDICATION 

To Dr. Frank D. Smythe and family 
in memory of unfailing kindnesses 
and courtesies extending over 
many years , this little book 
is gratefully dedicated 





PREFACE 


All my life I have loved to write 
and these stories came into existence 
because of that love. I have always 
loved a love story, and have rejoiced 
at love glances from one to another 
that tell of the heart's acknowledge¬ 
ment of its beloved. And the people 
whom I have known have somehow 
loved to tell me of their heart ex¬ 
periences, so it has been easy to 
weave these real life stories into 
readable love stories that my friends 
have enjoyed reading, or having me 
read of them. 

As Ella Miller Peacocke I wrote 
many stories and after reading them 
around to my friends laid them away 
feeling satisfied that they had ac¬ 
complished the purpose of their lives 
by giving pleasure to those visiting 
me and to myself in conceiving, writ¬ 
ing, reading and owning them. But 
their voices seem to have called out 
in the Universal Ether to the Arbiter 
of our destiny, and that cry was 
heard in far away Boston, for the 
Christopher Publishing House, for 
some strange reason not known to 


PREFACE 


myself, have written for these old 
stories, and the book which you hold 
in your hands has come forth to be 
read of you, I hope to receive your 
commendation by adding to the 
pleasure and profit of your experi¬ 
ence in the practical vital life of the 
living world about you. 

Ella Miller Peacocke 
By Ella Miller Cheshire. 


TABLE OF CONTENTS 
Por’ Brer* Wiley 

The Romance of Jessamine Place 
An Alabama Romance 
His Great Temptation 





* 



Por’ Brer’ Wiley 


Por’ Brer' Wiley! His life’s dun’ 
spent. 

Take erway his plaw; take erway 
his hoe; 

Put erway his Bible; put erway his 
Testament; 

He aine never gwine to need ’um 
no mo’. 

Moan, sisters, moan. Shout, brothers, 
shout. 

Aine you hurd dat death angel’s 
wings ? 

Brer’ Wiley’s dun dead, dough he fit 
and fout, 

An’ wrassel dat angel wid de era- 
pen wings. 

An’ us couldn’t hope him none in no 
way, 

‘Case de number uf his days wus 
many, 

An’ de good Lord’s dun call’ him home 
today. 

Grieve, niggers, ’case death doan 
spare us any. 


12 


POR’ BRER’ WILEY 


Grieve, niggers, grieve, er good man's 
dun gone. 

Shout brothers and sisters, an' 
praise God ; 

'Case Brer' Wiley's wid de angels 
round de throne; 

Ef us dus' haf ter put him 'neath 
de sod. 

“Taine no use ter look at dem old 
raggedty britches, 

Nur dat mule’s sadsome eyes an' 
hongry face, 

Wid yo' years er lisenin’ and yo’ eyes 
er stretchin' 

Hur His ruslin' robes an' see his 
shinin' face. 

'Taine no use to be er geussin' nur 
er doubtin' 

'Case he's dun on de golden sho'. 

Wid dem arkangels he’s er harpin' 
and er shoutin,' 

Aine nothing goan ter pester him 
no mo'. 

Us kin guess, er us kin doubt, er jest 
b’lieve; 

But, honey, he's dun gone whar' 
dey knows. 

'Taine no use to fret an' cry; no use 
to grieve; 

'Case he's gone whar de milk an' 
honey flows. 


POR’ BRER’ WILEY 


13 


He preached to niggers; he talked to 

de white fokes; 

To white an' black he shorely pint- 
ed de way. 

He tole us all de Scriptures in earnest 
an’ in jokes, 

An" trimbled wid de Sperit when 
he’d sing and pray. 

0, niggers, I aine gwine ter let his 
pwore white soul 

Go wanderin’ erbout in dem big, 
strange places 

Uf de universe wid no music to guide 
him ter his goal, 

Whar’ Christ is waitin’ him wid de 
shinin’ laces. 

Hush dat crying baby by; make dat 
ugly gal shet her mouf; 

She doan know what she’s doin’ er 
what she’s sayin’ 

Git down dat ole drum, den retch 
back an’ git de fouf 

It’s time to have sum music and 
sum prayin’’. 

Beat dat drum sof’ an’ low, Brer’ 
Simon Peter; 

Play dat fouf, Brer’ Lem. Les show 
dem lisenin’ angels 

How us loves Brer’ Wiley. Hole her 
close an’ beat her; 

Slow an’ sweet fur Brer’ Wiley an’ 
all dem angels. 


The Romance of 
Jessamine Place 

CHAPTER I. 

The June sun was falling towards 
the western tree tops his beams kiss¬ 
ed a beautiful girl clad in her wed¬ 
ding dress and gave a touch of color 
to the snowy robes. There was the 
babble of feminine voices and the 
laugh of happy women. Rose Win¬ 
chester was happy, she had been tell¬ 
ing every one so for a month. Her¬ 
bert Vance, the groom to be, was a 
man to win and hold sincere friend¬ 
ship as well as admiration. Under 
thirty his skill and reputation made 
him one of the leading surgeons of 
the South. He had inherited much 
wealth, was influential, a man of in¬ 
tegrity and great ability. He was 
gentle, thoughtful, lovable. Rose 
was proud of him, she felt a thrill of 
pleasure as she remembered his let¬ 
ters, his presents and the thousand 
tender attentions. Happy smiles 
played about her face as she thought 
of her happiness, her triumph in the 


JESSAMINE PLACE 


15 


new life where she was to shine as 
the wife of the distinguished Dr. 
Vance. 

. As her breast heaved with a 
sigh of happiness she was called 
to the telephone. She walked out, 
down the long hall, trailing her brid¬ 
al robes, and old Mammy said a pray¬ 
er for the bride who wore her wed¬ 
ding dress outside her own room be¬ 
fore the wedding night. Rose laugh¬ 
ed, looking back at her over her 
shoulder. 

The message was serious, there 
had been a head on collision between 
two passenger trains and the wreck 
caught fire. Herbert Vance, find¬ 
ing himself uninjured, rendered all 
aid possible to the injured and dying, 
and when his duty was done, walked 
some distance to a flag station to 
notify Rose of the cause of his de¬ 
lay, assure her of his safety and ex¬ 
press his regret at not being able to 
reach her home at the appointed 
time. Rose was much disappointed, 
she pouted, the others consoled, but 
her high spirits were gone. 


16 


THE ROMANCE OF 


CHAPTER II. 

Rose sat alone in the moonlight. 
To her left lay the orchards of Jessa¬ 
mine Place, her own home, to the 
right, the stately home of the Stan¬ 
leys. The two families were life 
long friends and the children had 
grown up as one family. She was 
sad now that the time for parting 
had come, as she felt the old hopes, 
the old affections, drifting away 
and the new strange life looming 
lonesomely before her. The sad 
pause of interrupted festivities is 
always a solmn one, the air holds a 
strange hush, and hearts throb with 
the weight of unborn events. Her 
thoughts drifted back to girlhood, 
then to childhood, to the playfellows 
of that happy period and centered on 
Winston Stanley, the boy who as a 
child, youth, and man, had loved her 
but who had never come to claim her 
hand. She walked over and put her 
hand in the old mail box where they 
had dropped their letters, when they 
first learned to write. It contained 
an old top, a dog collar, and a boy's 
cap. She pressed the cap to her 
heart, she kissed it and cried over it. 


JESSAMINE PLACE 


17 


It was a dear thing, a precious part 
of the loving past. She forgot she 
was to be a bride, she was a girl, and 
she cried for the love she believed 
dead months ago from indifference 
and neglect, for the faithless lover 
who never came. And this was her 
wedding eve! The old love had come 
back and she cried out, “Oh, Win¬ 
ston, I love you still, where are you, 
how could you forget me? Heavens, 
can it be that I will never see you 
again.” 

A man walked leisurely through 
the old orchard path. He paused 
near the rustic seat and looked over 
the landscape with loving eyes even 
as Rose had done. Seeing no one, 
he passed on to the Winchester 
house. Rose had heard his foot 
steps and slipped in the grape arbor 
out of sight. The man was Win¬ 
ston Stanley and Rose could have 
touched his shoulder as he passed but 
she knew it not. 


18 


THE ROMANCE OF 


CHAPTER III. 

Finding that Rose was out on the 
grounds somewhere, Winston slip¬ 
ped away from the Judge to seek 
her. He caught the gleam of a 
white dress on the rustic seat and 
walked quickly over. She still held 
the cap. She was crying. Surpris¬ 
ed, he stopped, he listened. Yes, 
there was no mistake. He drew near¬ 
er, she did not hear him. He heard 
her say: “Dear old cap, we are both 
forgotten. Newer and brighter 
things have attracted him since he 
left us. Ah, the pain is mine, Win¬ 
ston, you have been cruel.” fflffl 

He slipped into the seat beside 
her. She thought it was her big New 
Foundland and mechanically put out 
her hand to pet him. It was caught 
in two warm palms. She uttered 
a quick scream of fright, soon drown¬ 
ed in joy as she recognized Winston. 

“Where have you come from, Win¬ 
ston,” she asked him, “I am sur¬ 
prised to see you and oh, so glad.” 

“I came straight from New Orleans 
with one person in my mind, one 
hope in my heart. I came for you, 
Rose. Remember your vows to me 


JESSAMINE PLACE 


19 


under these very trees. You promised 
by all we hold sacred, that you would 
be true to me as long as we both lived, 
and that when I came to claim you 
you would marry me. You can not be 
false to those vows. The very trees 
would shame you, nay even the grass, 
it is the same, the old seat is the 
same, the grapes still hang in ripe 
clusters. Nothing has changed, only 
you and I have grown older. You 
are a woman now in the full per¬ 
fection of your beauty—I am a man, 
tired of trying to live without you, 
tired of striving even for you, in 
lonliness—and have come to claim 
the promises you made me in the 
long ago. I have loved you so long, 
dear, and have missed you so. You 
can not bid me go alone back to the 
old fight, the old lonliness, without 
the hope and love that have sustained 
and steadied me through all the years 
since we knelt together at your 
mother's knee. You surely love me 
now as you did in the old days, Rose, 
you can not forget. As long as mem¬ 
ory lives, dear, your true heart will 
be mine. 

“I am pleading Rose. Am I right, 
sweet?" The moonlight fell on his 
face, it was strong, earnest, master¬ 
ful, and pale with emotion, the dark 
eyes gleaming with tender passion. 


20 


THE ROMANCE OF 


“Winston/’ it was a faint whisper. 
“0, Winston, I am so unworthy, I am 
to be married to-morrow night. Have 
mercy on me. Winston, leave me a- 
lone in my misery. I love you still, 
but must wed another. In heaven’s 
name, leave me.” 

He put his arms around her and 
pulled her head over on his breast, 
saying: “That is all I wanted to hear 
you say. Since you love me, no man 
on earth can take you away from me. 
I received the card to your wedding. 
It was a great shock, because I 
thought you were still waiting for me. 
I looked upon our marriage as cer¬ 
tain, as though it had already oc¬ 
curred and believed in your love and 
canstancy as I believed in Heaven. 
My faith in you made me negligent, 
though I did not realize it until now. 
I have been working, planning, build¬ 
ing a practice and a home for you as 
I promised long ago. I said little of 
all this, thinking to surprise you. I 
have made a great mistake, darling, 
but you must forgive me. I will 
make up for it. I knew your true 
heart was mine, and I risked every¬ 
thing on my faith in you.” He bent 
and kissed her as one salutes a saint. 

She tried to speak, to rise, but her 
strength was gone, she trembled in 
every limb. He feared she would 


JESSAMINE PLACE 


21 


faint, and laid her gently down on the 
seat and fanned her. She rallied; the 
horror of her situation gave her 
strength. She knelt at his feet and 
begged him to leave her, to go away 
and let her keep faith with the man 
who was coming to claim her, to 
whom her parents had given her. 
He lifted her up, and placing her on 
the seat beside him, pleaded for his 
love. 

“My precious, you can not mean 
what you say. You can not. nossibly 
ask me to allow you to marry a man 
who has not won your heart. It 
would be a vile outrage against 
nature, against God and man; the 
cruelest wrong you could do to the 
man, a deadly sin against your own 
pure soul, a selling of your sweet, 
white body for social reasons, for 
pride, to save yourself and family 
from a humiliation soon overcome 
and sooner forgiven, to save them 
the embarrassing gaze of a gaping 
crowd, and silly questions from the 
curious fools that help make up one's 
world. Is it worth the price of a 
soul? Is it worth the happiness of 
true hearts? Is it worth the wreck¬ 
ing of two lives, nay three, for sooner 
or later, this man would realize the 
wrong and resent it. No, a thousand 
times no. I would not do it to save 


22 


THE ROMANCE OF 


my own life, though I would sacri¬ 
fice that life to shield your honor. 
Believe me, Rose, only love makes 
marriage holy.” 

“Oh, Winston, the guests are here, 
he is coming. Oh, Heavens, what 
shall I do?” she cried with clasped 
hands appealingly raised to him. 

“That which your pure heart coun¬ 
sels, Rose, give your hand where 
your heart was given years ago. I 
swear to you in this sacred spot, 
hallowed by the memary of our child¬ 
ish love and childish vows, I will not 
leave you while you love me, you, you 
are mine, Rose, heart, soul and body, 
from this happy hour until death. 
I will never surrender so divine a 
treasure. We must marry to-mor¬ 
row before he gets here, and leave at 
once. We will drive over to S...., 
catch a boat to New Orleans, see our 
little home, and from there take a 
steamer and go any where you wish. 
Do you consent, little one.” 

Poor Rose, she fought bravely, but 
love had conquered. Winston led 
her to his father's study and laid the 
matter before him. That philoso¬ 
phical gentleman looked serious as 
he heard the story, but when it was 
ended, remarked: 

“This is a terrible state of affairs, 
boy, and mind you I blame you en- 


JESSAMINE PLACE 


23 


tirely for it all. But since it can not 
mend a bad matter to make it worse, 
I advise Rose to marry you rather 
than sacrifice the happiness of two 
lives in an effort to make one man 
happy. Reciprocity is the funda¬ 
mental law of all things that contin¬ 
ue and I do not believe Dr. Vance 
would long be deceived as to her re¬ 
gard and certainly would not be sat¬ 
isfied with such an empty life. A 
woman who has given her heart to 
another man is a poor wife, however 
honorable and faithful she may be. 
I deeply sympathize with Rose and 
her family as well as my own, over 
this irregular turn of affairs, yet I 
gladly welcome her as my daughter, 
(she has long held this place in my 
affection), and bid you two to wed 
and be happy. Youth can live down 
such a misfortune and children soon 
heal all family breaches. The dear¬ 
est wish of my heart has been that 
you two might marry. God bless 
and keep you both in life and health, 
and save you forever in glory when 
this mortal life shall end.” He kis¬ 
sed Rose and Winston kneeling before 
him. 


24 


THE ROMANCE OF 


CHAPTER IV. 

“Margaret, my dear sister, you 
must listen to my story and help me 
as best you can. It is awful, darl¬ 
ing, awful, but you can help me. Oh, 
I am crazy, simply crazy. I don’t 
know what to do.” 

After swearing Margaret to se¬ 
crecy, Rose told her between sobs 
and tears of Winston’s wooing and 
how the force of his love and argu¬ 
ment had induced her to consent to 
marry him. 

“We are to go with Mrs. Stanley, 
ostensibly, to the funeral of dear old 
Mother Jackson. You and Dorothy 
Stanley are to be my bride’s maids. 
I shall not have a great wedding, 
Margaret, with a hundred and fifty 
guests as planned, but a simple mar¬ 
riage in the church. 

******* 

Mrs. Stanley and her party reach¬ 
ed Jessamine Place one hour after 
the appointed time for the marriage, 
the groom who had been detained 
was momentarily expected, and the 
bride was hurried off with Mrs. 


JESSAMINE PLACE 


25 


Stanley, to dress. There was just 
time for the ceremony, the minister's 
impressive prayer, parental bless¬ 
ings, and the hurried drive to the 
station, for the special had to meet 
the regular at K. 

At last they were alone. Herbert 
Vance sat down beside his wife and 
took her hand in his, saying gently, 
“Rose, dear, do not fear me. I am 
greatly grieved by your cold manner 
and sad appearance. Tell me what 
has changed you so?” The bride 
burst into tears and raising her veil, 
looked at him. 

“My God, Margaret,” he exclaimed, 
“What does this mean? Why did 
you slip in here, and where is Rose. 
I can not understand.” Margaret 
could not answer, she knew not what 
to say nor how to begin. Her silence 
irritated him, and he caught her 
wrist asking in a hoarse voice, “Have 
I, like Jacob, been deceived into 
marrying the wrong woman. Again 
I ask you, where is my wife?” 

At last Margaret managed to say, 
“Do not blame anyone else for this 
wrong, I only am to blame. 0. Heav¬ 
en, if I could only tell you gently. 
Dr. Vance, I have done a great wrong 
in trying to save you a terrible humi¬ 
liation. I did not realize the wrong 
until I took those solemn vows. I 


26 


THE ROMANCE OF 


did what my girlish heart dictated. 
I know you can never forgive me, no 
one ever will forgive me again. Oh, 
I am so sorry!” He looked at her 
with pity, he thought her temporari¬ 
ly insane, and asked more gently, 
“Tell me, Margaret, where is Rose? 
I love Rose and I want her.” 

His gentle manner gave her cour¬ 
age. She told him all the bitter 
story in a mechanical, passionless 
way. At the end she added that 
Rose had cried very much and sent 
many tender messages and hoped he 
would forgive her. “You see, we 
reached home late, you were coming, 
everybody was there, the wedding 
dress was laid out, they were all call¬ 
ing for the bride, and in desperation 
I put on those things hardly knowing 
what I did, but intending only to save 
everybody the humiliation of a 
scene when you came for a bride who 
had married another man. I thought 
it would be easy to tell you when we 
were alone. 

No word escaped his lips, he sat 
looking at the wall in front of him. 
She asked, “Can you forgive me.” 
No answer. She looked up, “Dr. 
Vance, I must return home, will you 
help me?” she asked. 

Receiving no reply, she stood up 
and looked at him. His face was 


JESSAMINE PLACE 


27 


white and drawn as that of the dead. 
She uttered a frightened scream but 
the noise of the moving train drown¬ 
ed her cry. “We have killed you and 
you never can forgive me. Live, oh, 
Herbert, live. I will devote my 
whole life to you for Rose's sake." 
she cried. He did not answer. Sud¬ 
denly the engine shrieked a quick, 
sharp whistle. He waked with a 
start, and caught Margaret as she 
fell swooming to the floor. 

* * * * * * * 

Five years, full of busy days and 
anxious nights for him, and full of 
travel and study for her, have passed 
since Herbert Vance married Mar¬ 
garet. Judge Winchester was tired 
of foreign lands, so he wrote Herbert 
he must now decide what disposition 
should be made of his marriage. 
They must return home, and Mar¬ 
garet must go either as Mrs. Vance, 
or the marriage must be set aside, a 
plan which Herbert emphatically op¬ 
posed. 

Herbert Vance read Judge Win¬ 
chester's letter with uncertain feel¬ 
ings. He believed his marriage to 
Margaret binding, although every 
member of the Winchester family, 
including Winston Stanley refused 


28 


THE ROMANCE OF 


to recognize its legality. For five 
years he had held Margaret as his 
wife legally yet he had sent her away 
from him, had insisted that she re¬ 
main with her father remote from 
the land in which they were born 
and regarded as home. He could 
give no satisfactory reason for this 
course, even to himself, yet he would 
not see her and his pride would not 
consider a divorce, quietly though it 
may have been procured. He insist¬ 
ed that she write him regularly. She 
wrote healthy, helpful letters, full of 
their life abroad, of her travels and 
of her studies, and the people they 
met. His letters said nothing of the 
future, he told of no plans, merely 
of his daily life, the books he read, the 
plays he saw, and general American 
news for the Judge. It was an 
awkward situation for the beautiful 
girl with plenty of money at her dis¬ 
posal, and full of spirit. And how a- 
bout himself and his future. The let¬ 
ter of Judge Winchester was plain, 
honest, earnest. His duty was plain. 
He must choose. 

* * * * * * * 

It was June in merry old England. 
The roses nodded in the soft breezes 
and caressed the beautiful girl stand- 


JESSAMINE PLACE 


29 


ing in their midst with the soft moon¬ 
light shimmering about her. Bend¬ 
ing over her stood Herbert Vance as 
he whispered: 

“Margaret, my wife, my darling, I 
love you. I love you so that your voice 
is music in my ear. I love you, darl¬ 
ing, so that I can not live again with¬ 
out you. Come to my home and make 
my life the complete and useful life 
that only you can guide and love and 
live with, for, darling, I will not even 
try to live without you, my lovely 
queen.” 

“And what about Rose. ,, she asked. 
“Rose is so beautiful, so charming, so 
bewitching, can any man escape her 
spell. Herbert can any man cease to 
love Rose or forget the madness of 
loving her? 

“I do not know, Margaret. My love 
for Rose is as though it had never 
been, or as if Rose, my dream girl, 
had died in her faithless beauty, leav¬ 
ing all my love in my great aching 
heart. I remember Rose is your sister, 
and I love her because you love her. 
I feel no resentment against her, only 
a great thankfulness that I am free 
to woo and win you, my queen. I 
love you simply, joyfully, with all my 
heart; not as I loved Rose, in the mad 
ness of my youth, with a wild passion¬ 
ate desire to possess her forever, be- 


30 


THE ROMANCE OF 


cause of her beauty and witchery, but 
with a man's deep, strong, quiet, 
peaceful love, that desires to crown 
your life with the sweetness of that 
love, and finds in your presence all 
that life and woman can give. Will 
you accept this love, Margaret, and be 
my wife as long as we live?" 

“Herbert are you sure you feel that 
this bad girl who married you without 
your knowledge or consent is worthy 
of the crown of your love and the 
home in which your wife shall live?" 
she asked shyly slipping her hands 
in his. 

“Very, very sure, dear," he replied 
taking her in his arms. After many, 
many, kisses he said earnestly and 
gently, “Margaret, I can not leave you 
here, I will not live without you by 
my side. May we begin now to live to¬ 
gether as man and wife under the 
vows we took at that marriage five 
years ago, which we have kept so 
faithfully?" 

“No, darling, I was too scared and 
you all ignorant of what you were do¬ 
ing. We shall be married again to¬ 
morrow at West Minster, and it shall 
be my very own wedding, and then 
we shall sail for home. My home and 
yours." 


An Alabama Romance 

They stood together in the mellow 
moonlight, about them hung the dew- 
born odors of the summer night, at 
their feet spread the limpid lake 
whose bosom mirrored the starry 
firmament. 

His handsome head bent over her, 
his hand held hers, his voice was full 
of passionate tenderness. She list¬ 
ened passively to the declaration of 
his love, as she had listened many a 
time before. When he finished she 
spoke, her smooth, even tones con¬ 
trasting strangely with the passion¬ 
ate pleading of his. 

“Yes, Gerald, I suppose it is true, 
I believe you. But, indeed I have 
nothing to give in return for all the 
love you offer me. I have heard 
your love-making so often that I 
know it all before you say it, and yet 
it awakes no answer from my heart.” 

“I only ask you to give me time to 
win you, Dian.” 

“It is useless. Go seek love and 
happiness among the pretty girls a- 
bout you. Forget me and be happy. 


32 


AN ALABAMA ROMANCE 


This love wasted on me may make an¬ 
other woman's heaven." 

“I cannot believe my love is wast¬ 
ed, Heaven would not be so cruel. 
An answer yet will come. Give me 
time and I will melt that icy heart of 
yours by the very intensity of my 
love, the fervor of my devotion. Give 
me time, my darling—it will surely 
win." 

“Ah, Gerald, once I believed that 
—I hoped so—but now I know the 
hopelessness of such a dream. A wo¬ 
man does not love a man ever if 
eighteen months of unwearied and 
patient devotion such as yours makes 
no impression. Take my advice, seek 
a woman who will give in equal meas¬ 
ure the love you lavish." 

“But, Dian, I cannot give to an¬ 
other that which Heaven has sent to 
you. You are the one woman my 
heart seeks. Don't you understand 
this," Gerald asked. 

“I only know that it is not mine— 
that is, I cannot receive it. Your 
pleading is vain, I cannot love you," 
slowly replied the girl. 

He looked at her, the exquisite 
curves of her queenly figure, the 
rounded arms and dimpled neck, the 
starry eyes and perfect mouth, and 
an uncontrollable longing to teach her 
the mystery of love's response seized 


AN ALABAMA ROMANCE 33 

him. He fell upon his knees and 
caught her hands in both his own and 
covered them with burning kisses, 
murmuring half articulate words of 
passionate tenderness. The attitude 
his manner touched her sympathy as 
nothing else had done, she freed one 
white hand and gently smoothed his 
hair, as she would have done a child 
in trouble. He misunderstood her, 
the caress maddened him, he threw 
his arms about her form and kissed 
her garments in wild abandonment. 

She was frightened and screamed. 
Her cry restored reason, he released 
her—flung her from him, saying 
hoarsely, “Leave me alone, woman, 
Leave me alone with my pain and my 
agony, you can understand neither. 
Go.” 

She walked slowly back to the ball 
room, alone, the music of a waltz 
floated out to her, but she heeded it 
not. She was thinking of Gerald’s 
words, “my pain and my agony, you 
can understand neither.” It was true, 
she had suspected it long—she knew 
now she could not understand the 
emotions that swayed him. His kiss¬ 
es burning with the magical fire of 
love had not thrilled her, it had all 
appeared very tragical to her—noth¬ 
ing more. Had it been the love af¬ 
fair of another she could scarcely 


34 


AN ALABAMA ROMANCE 


have felt less interest. She wondered 
why it w T as thus, and for days the 
words haunted her. 

So lover after lover wooed Dian 
Chilton and woed in vain, even as 
Gerald Hart had done To each and 
all she told the same story of unwill¬ 
ing indifference. She had sought to 
unravel the mystery of her condition. 
Books told her nothing, sex and envir¬ 
onment forbade experiments that in 
the first months of her discovery 
might have been attempted, and later 
she accepted the inevitable. Hers was 
a beautiful home, objects of art and 
beauty met her eyes at every turn. At 
27 her beauty was perfect, every at¬ 
traction that culture and travel could 
add was hers. At foreign courts lords 
and dukes had been glad to linger by 
her side, while coronets and titles had 
been trown at her feet. And yet she 
was discontent, all things were old to 
her, ambition a dream that had died 
with her girlhood. It seemed to her 
that love, like a Nemesis pursued her 
withsoever she went, and she was so 
tired of it all. Women marveled at 
her indifference and men admired her 
the more thinking her wondrously 
pure and modest. 

So the years passed until a younger 
sister's debut. Society was startled 
by the vivacity, the wit, the originali- 


AN ALABAMA ROMANCE 


35 


ty and daring of Helen Chilton. She 
won all hearts, men were her compan¬ 
ions, her trusted confidantes, her pro¬ 
tectors, her slaves, her lovers, as she 
willed it. Children idolized her and 
the poor blessed the strange girl who 
sang for them, prayed for them or 
teased them by turn as was her mood, 
but who never forgot them or the 
gifts that brighten their poor lives. 
To Dian most of all was the girl a 
revelation, a source of ever growing 
wonder. The peaceful current of her 
life was turned by this pretty piece 
of girlish capriciousness. Affection 
stirred in her heart and hope awoke 
dreams of happiness. 

Helen marvelled much at her sist¬ 
er’s oddness. That which to her was 
the spice, the zeal of life was to Dian 
a matter of indifference, a dream that 
was dead. It puzzled and annoyed 
Helen, she endeavored in vain to un¬ 
ravel the mystery and failing grew 
to call her sister Nox. She explained 
this rather queer idea by saying, 
“You see, my sister is very beautiful 
and very mysterious and so is 
night. I love my sister and I love 
the night, they are both full of mys¬ 
terious witchery and I understand 
neither. So I call my sister Nox, 
Goddess of the night. I think the 



36 


AN ALABAMA ROMANCE 


title suits her perfectly.” Others 
thought so too. 

Slowly Dian grew to realize the 
completeness of a perfect woman. 
She grieved anew over her own con¬ 
dition and decided to consult a great 
specialist in New York, to whom her 
father had taken her years ago for 
a surgical operation. 

The great man listened to her 
story, smiled sympathetically and ad¬ 
vised a change of air and scene, a trip 
to Rome, to Egypt, a season in Lon¬ 
don, that she surround herself with 
young people, enter into their plans 
and pleasures, and she would forget 
that she was “odd” in fact would 
cease to be so. 

The old home was left to the care 
of faithful servants and Gen. Chilton, 
their uncle and guardian, took the 
two girls abroad. 

In Rome they met a fellow country¬ 
man, a novelist, seeking health and 
recreation. He was a dreamy, poetic 
man with high ideals and a fine con¬ 
tempt for the commonplace. He had 
lived much abroad and knew every 
place or spot of interest and soon be¬ 
came invaluable to the girls, the 
General seeing this, and being also 
greatly pleased with him pressed him 
to join them. To him Helen confid¬ 
ed her girlish secrets and begged that 


AN ALABAMA ROMANCE 37 

he would surely put her in one of his 
stories, “make me a heroine if possi¬ 
ble !” she pleaded. It would be so 
grand to have people everywhere 
reading about me and What I did and 
yet never know it’s only little me,” 
she said. “And Nox, dear Nox, she 
is so awfully odd and yet so lovely— 
she would indeed be a great heroine 
if only we could ever get her to love 
anybody,” and she would tell a hund¬ 
red incidences of Dian’s peculiarities, 
always ending with, “She is the best 
woman on earth and the very loveli¬ 
est even if she is so odd.” 

Merideth Winchester observed 
both women closely, studied their 
character in fact. As the months 
passed, however, he felt a special in¬ 
terest in the woman who could not 
love, who had no ambition, who rath¬ 
er avoided men, who had refused 
some of the best “catches” of half 
a dozen seasons, who had the courage 
to reject titled noblemen of foreign 
countries as coolly as the American 
business man with whom she had 
made mud pies in the long ago. He 
respected this woman who defended 
her actions with the simple state¬ 
ment, “I cannot marry a man whom 
I do not love. And there is no need, 
all that wealth and social position 
can bestow I have already without 


38 


AN ALABAMA ROMANCE 


the responsibility of marriage or a 
title.” He was forced to the conclu¬ 
sion that she was indeed a rare creat¬ 
ure, a woman without matrimonial 
ambitions. 

And Dian learned to admire the 
modest novelist quite as much as he 
admired her. By his constant court¬ 
esy and brotherly kindness he over¬ 
came her fear of love-making and she 
drifted into an earnest friendship, 
such as she had never known before. 
They enjoyed Helen’s triumphs. She 
was a veritable queen of hearts and 
all men acknowledged the power of 
her fascination. It was her second 
season and she won laurels enough 
to have turned the head of a girl with 
less native sense and strength of 
character. They called her The Sor¬ 
ceress and she enjoyed the distinction 
and revelled in her success. Dian 
worshipped her and gloried in the 
magical power of her beauty. And 
Meredith more than ever marvelled 
at the difference between the sisters. 
Dian was a shadow as it were of the 
glorious Helen. 

At the close of the season farewells 
were exchanged and Gen. Chilton 
took his nieces south on their trip 
through the x Holy Land, intending to 
take it in easy stages stopping at 
every place of interest visited by Our 


AN ALABAMA ROMANCE 


39 


Savior and the appostles, thence 
northward into Switzerland and Nor¬ 
way returning to Paris from which 
point they would sail for America. 

Helen insisted that Meredith should 
accompany them but he pleaded busi¬ 
ness and literary engagements and 
promised to join them in Norway 
and accompany them home. They all 
missed his genial presence and inter¬ 
esting conversation very much, but 
an occasional letter told of the pro¬ 
gress on his present work and the 
papers told of his success. The sis¬ 
ters read of him everywhere and 
thought no praise could do him jus¬ 
tice. 

In Paris they met an American, a 
lawyer from Virginia, the son of an 
old friend of Gen. Chilton’s. He was 
a small, dark man with keen eyes 
that expressed just what their owner 
desired them to say, a smooth, clean¬ 
shaven face, a sharp nose and a 
rather slight compact figure, muscu¬ 
lar, shapely and full of activity. His 
name was Thomas Turpley. 

Helen laughed and chatted with 
him, pleased with the story of his 
travels, the plantation anecdotes of 
his childhood. He was a brilliant 
conversationalist, being witty, hu¬ 
morous, pathetic or reminiscent as 
it pleased him. It was as a breath 


40 


AN ALABAMA ROMANCE 


of air from home, this man who car¬ 
ried about his individuality, his in¬ 
born love of country and the hallow¬ 
ed influence of home. He impressed 
them all, each became conscious of a 
longing for home and grew impa¬ 
tient for departure. 

On the journey home Thomas Tur- 
pley and Helen were much together. 
His heart was hers after the first 
hours of their acquaintance and he 
bent every energy to win her, as he 
had done to accomplish every other 
success that was his. He wooed her 
tenderly, slowly, lovingly, this court¬ 
ed darling of society. He watched 
her, drank in the glory of her beauty, 
felt his heart thrill with pleasure at 
her smile, and thought how royally 
she merited the title given in a Lon¬ 
don drawing room, she was indeed 
a Sorceress. 

As Dian watched the growing at¬ 
tachment of young Turpley and Hel¬ 
en's developing response she regret¬ 
ted as never before her own lack of 
something—she knew not what— the 
one thing that woud make her com¬ 
plete. That would transform the 
shadow into a woman Helen would 
have said. 

Meredith Winchester had fallen in 
love also. It came to him so quietly, 
so slowly that be scarce was con- 


AN ALABAMA ROMANCE 


41 


scious of it until their arrival in New 
York and the hour for parting had 
come. He asked permission to visit 
them at their hotel and discuss future 
plans. 

While in New York Dian again 
visited the great surgeon to whom 
she had previously appealed. He 
questioned her as to her trip and its 
result. She ended her story with 
these words, “It seems, doctor, that 
nothing will do me any good. I am 
getting hopeless over my condition!” 
He spoke encouragingly of the con¬ 
dition of her health and something 
about other blessings being added 
later. 

“That is just what I want to ask 
you about, doctor, 1 ” said the woman 
interrupting him, “I have thought 
much over my condition and have 
grown to think an operation I under¬ 
went at your hands some years ago 
must have something to do with it. 
Do you think so?” 

“An operation, it is possible?” ex¬ 
claimed the doctor more interested. 

“Yes, when I was 20 years old, in 
the fall of 18—, having been an in¬ 
valid for more than a year, I was 
brought to you by my father and you 
performed an operation, which you 
assured me would restore my health. 
I have been well ever since though 


42 


AN ALAMABA ROMANCE 


made a somewhat slow, recovery in 
the South of France, where my 
father took me by your advice. ,, 

“Ah, a girl of 20, a serious opera¬ 
tion, nature of which withheld from 
her, sent to the South of France for 
recovery. Let me see,” murmured 
ed the doctor as he crossed the room 
to search among his case books. 

Dian watched him feeling as 
though the hour of doom had come. 

Finally he walked over to her bear¬ 
ing a book on which was inscribed 
the year she had mentioned. “Now, 
all is clear,” he said. I remember 
your father would not permit me to 
reveal to you the serious nature of 
your trouble, of the unfortunate con¬ 
sequences that must follow such op¬ 
erations. Your condition was des¬ 
perate, an operation the only remedy 
that offered a chance for recovery. 
Your father decided for you. The re¬ 
sult justified his decision. Your case 
is one of rare interest to me. It is sel¬ 
dom indeed that a surgeon may lift 
the veil and peer into the inner cham¬ 
ber of a woman’s soul. Ah, child, be¬ 
lieve me, I grieve that your condition 
is unsatisfactory, but I congratulate 
you upon your recovered health and 
retained beauty and myself upon this 
interview. The operation was per 
formed while I was a young man, 


AN ALABAMA ROMANCE 43 

but as large as has been my exper¬ 
ience, it was carefully and so skill¬ 
fully done that I did not even suspect 
it. Oh, the result is so beautiful. 
How few women under such circum¬ 
stances are so fortunate!” 

“There was a history of tubercu¬ 
losis in your mother’s family, she 
died very young, of a slow fever, 
which some doctors pronounced ty¬ 
phoid and which others believed to 
be miliary tuberculosis, you had 
been in delicate health since your 
graduation, no pronounced trouble, 
for six or eight months, but a loss 
of flesh, color, appetite, severe pain 
in the side, a troublesome caugh af¬ 
ter a slight cold, predisposition to 
take cold,” said the doctor, reading 
from the book he held: “Such a his¬ 
tory in connection with the trouble 
found to exist made an operation im¬ 
perative, you rallied slowly. I sent 
you to Southern France for the win¬ 
ter. I find you now, more than ten 
year after the operation, unusually 
beautiful, no hysteria, figure symet- 
rical, no tendency to acquire flesh, 
very youthful in face, figure and 
movement. What perfect success! 
How wonderful is science!” exclaim¬ 
ed the great surgeon. 

“But, doctor, you forget the result 
is not so gratifying to me and that I 


44 


AN ALABAMA ROMANCE 


am come to ask you to make me as 
other women—as my sister/' pleaded 
Dian, tears shining in her eyes. 

The man of science was touched by 
her words, he took her cold hands in 
his and as tenderly as a father might 
have done he made her understand 
the hopelessness of her request, ex¬ 
plained to her with great delicacy 
the nature of the operation he had 
done and the loss it entailed to her 
womanhood, ending with such words 
of encouragement and friendly inter¬ 
est as only a good physician and a 
noble man knows. 

Dian walked away feeling a degree 
of satisfaction and yet with a grief 
she had never known before the grief 
that all humanity feels when robbed 
beyond all hope of recovery (under 
justifiable circumstances) of the di¬ 
vine heritage given by God himself. 

A few months later in sunny Ala¬ 
bama there was a great wedding. 
There were costumes from Paris, 
laces from Belgium, linens from Ire¬ 
land, and fruits and flowers from all 
over the Southland and other count¬ 
ries. The old home was filled with 
visitors. There was music and laugh¬ 
ter and dancing. There were tears 
too, for Dian was too devotedly at¬ 
tached to Helen not to weep over this 
severance of their daily companion- 


AN ALABAMA ROMANCE 


45 


ship. And henceforth Helen's home 
would be in Richmond, Virginia, 
where Thomas Turpley, in part¬ 
nership with his father, was one of 
the strongest and most influential 
men at the bar. 

After the bridal party had gone, 
Gen Chilton and Dian found the old 
home too lonely without Helen's 
bright presence, so they closed up the 
house and went for a few months' 
trip through Canada and Alaska. 

In Montreal they met Meredith 
Winchester. At the invitation of 
Gen. Chilton he dined with them. As 
the evening wore on the General felt 
the young people distraight in his 
presence, so he slipped out and left 
them alone. 

Dian was uncomfortable and ill at 
ease. Conversation lagged. Mere¬ 
dith crossed over to the window 
where Dian stood watching the starry 
night. He possessed himself of one 
of her hands, he lifted it to his lips, 
saying: 

“Dian, once I begged to tell you 
the story of my love, you forbade me 
then. Time has not changed my 
sentiments, may I tell you now? 

She looked at him sadly but held 
out her other hand to him. He un¬ 
derstood her. 

“My darling, I love you, I love you, 


46 


AN ALABAMA ROMANCE 


will you be my wife?” he asked, a 
world of love and tenderness in his 
voice. 

“I think I love you all I can ever love 
any man, but listen, you must know 
the poverty of my love before you 
ask me to be your wife.” She spoke 
so low he scarce could her her words. 

“I have been robbed of my birth¬ 
right, of my womanhood by science. 
It was done to save my health, nay 
they thought, my life. I knew noth¬ 
ing of it until our return from Nor¬ 
way. While in New York I sought 
the surgeon who had treated me years 
ago and from him I learned the secret 
of my pecularity—why I am not like 
Helen—why I could not love as she 
loved. It was then I bade you not to 
speak. I could not tell anyone my 
story and I would not wed you in de¬ 
ceit.” 

“But, Dian, you are womanly and 
lovely to me, dear,” he said tenderly, 
kissing her hand. 

“This surgeon, of whom I spoke, 
says that I may love as children love, 
as women love each other, almost as 
a mother may love her child, but 
never the love a man seeks to win 
from his bride, for that was taken 
from me by a terrible operation in 


AN ALABAMA ROMANCE 


47 


my girlhood, ere I knew it was in 
fact.” 

“What difference does that make to 
me, darling. If you love me with all 
the love you have, to the exclusion of 
all other men it is the richest blessing 
I desire, all I could ask. I am de¬ 
lighted to know that even in love you 
are your own perfect self, different 
and apart from all other women.” 

“But, you know, you might regret 
—people remark how different I am 
and you might be annoyed. Marriage 
is forever—and—and—and you 
might get tired of this shadow of the 
love other women give, and I never 
could give anything else. You un¬ 
derstand it is impossible,” she said. 

“I have all I want when you say 
you love me, Dian.” 

“But, oh, why will you make me 
say it—I—I—I—am—not—fit—for 
a wife! Oh, Meredith, leave me. I 
cannot bear this humiliation, leave 
me as you love me,” pleaded the wo¬ 
man sinking into a chair and cover¬ 
ing her face with her hands. 

“No, darling, I will not leave you, 
you have said you love me, by that 
I beg you not to send me away. If 
there is aught that humiliates or 
grieves you keep it to yourself, pre¬ 
cious, I do not care to know it. Tell 
me nothing that pains you in the tell- 


48 


AN ALABAMA ROMANCE 


ing. I will take you as you are and 
love you always, asking no questions. 
If there ever comes a time when you 
want to tell me more, tell me then. 
Believe me Dian, you are the most 
precious thing in the world to me.” 

He stooped to kiss her but she 
evaded him, saying, “No, it can never 
be—love and marriage are not for 
me. Oh, surely I am the most miser¬ 
able woman on earth.” She began to 
cry. He knelt beside her and strok¬ 
ed her bowed head, murmuring 
words of endearment. 

“Don't say that love and marriage 
are not for you. You have all my love 
and I shall marry you as soon as I 
can win your consent, dear.” 

“Oh, Meredith, I cannot tell you—I 
—I—Oh, how can I tell you?” she 
raised her head and looked at him. 

“Then don't, sweet,” he said, putt¬ 
ing his arms about her and drawing 
her head down to his shoulder where 
it rested. 

“But, darling, I must, don't you un¬ 
derstand, I must,” she whispered. 
Meredith, I can never know a wifely 
love and motherhood is an impossi¬ 
bility,” she whispered again. His 
arms tightened about her. Oh, how 
could I tell you this?” she asked in 


AN ALAMABA ROMANCE 


49 


a shocked voice, crying worse than 
before. 

“I am glad that you did, darling, 
but it was unnecessary. It makes 
no difference to me—I love you just 
the same. I yet would wed you and 
love you all the more for the great 
loss you have sustained. I shall have 
to love you enough to compensate for 
the other loves that might have been 
yours.’’ He lifted her arms and 
wound them about his neck, saying, 
“See, this seals it. You can’t re¬ 
tract now.” 


His Great Temptation 


I sit alone in my room tonight—the 
anniversary of my birth and watch 
the snow flakes come down slowly, 
lazily, and think of the one love that 
glorified my life, the one woman who 
lived above temptation. 

I sit in a warm steam-heated room 
with everything people call luxury a- 
bout me, but where is she. Some¬ 
where out in the great wide world she 
is think ing of me. Silver threads 
are shining among the lustrous 
strands of brown where the sunshine 
seemed to nestle, but still her heart is 
mine. That heart of gold that can't 
be sullied. 

I am sixty years old tonight. I was 
born at a vital time in the history of 
the world and chose medicine and 
surgery as my profession. When I 
graduated and walked out into the 
world to win my way I found a rich 
heritage awaiting me. Many old and 
useless drugs were discarded and 
Hemeopathy was teaching us the val¬ 
ue of palatability in prescriptions, 
and I, fortunately, was taught under 


HIS GREAT TEMPTATION 51 

a broad, kind man who had served a 
long time as prescription clerk in a 
drug store before he studied medicine 
and became Professor of Materia 
Medica and Therapeutics in a leading 
medical college. 

Sims and McDowell had blazed the 
way to brilliant achievements in sur¬ 
gery, to say nothing of the myriad 
other lights that make bright the way 
of the man seeking to relieve human 
ills. Ah, *tis a glorious world and a 
great time to live, but God have mer¬ 
cy on the man who has been a fool 
and wasted the glory of his strength 
in sensuality, for “the wages of sin 
is death,” and I have paid it a thous¬ 
and times, for I have died a thousand 
deaths while still I live. 

Now, when I should be at the very 
hey day of my usefulness, the ripe 
experience of almost forty years of 
active professional life making rich 
and valuable my less active years for 
consultation and the higher lines of 
work, I am crippled and old, the body 
that once was a joy is now a hind¬ 
rance and a punishment. The joints 
ache, the bones are alive with pain, 
and at night when others sleep I 
watch the slow hours creep by while 
my youth and the man that I was 
come to mock me with the helpless¬ 
ness of all human power to cure, and 


92 HIS GREAT TEMPTATION 

I a physician bow my head as tears of 
agony are wrung from eyes that can 
not sleep. The best of my brother 
physicians have prescribed in vain 
for me, and slowly through the years 
of wretchedness comes ringing ever 
in my ears that Divine edict, “the 
wages of sin is death.” 

******* 

How long has it been since I wrote 
last. I can’t say. I have learned 
not to count the hours, but the pain is 
over and I am comparatively quiet 
again and must write more. Per¬ 
haps some day the X-ray will bring 
peace to pains like mine. Who can 
say what it will do when only yes¬ 
terday as it were men are able to look 
through the solid flesh and behold 
the bones, bones that ache and hurt 
with the agony of mine. Who can 
say what such a power will do. It 
may be yet I shall find peace for my 
bones and healing for my flesh. God 
grant it. 

Oh, my Queen, though you be far 
away, where I know not, yet you are 
with me. I see you bend over me, the 
light shining in the meshes of your 
brown and gold hair, that sweet 
smile, so tender and loving beaming 
on me, and I remember, oh, how viv- 


HIS GREAT TEMPTATION 53 


idly I remember every look, every 
tone, every smile, of that last terrible 
interview when you went out of my 
life forever but not out of my heart. 
That is impossible so long as memory 
lives and this heart can throb. 

You see, away back in the sunny 
days of my youth, armed with my 
diploma, saddle bags, and other para¬ 
phernalia of the country doctor, I 
took my good Kentucky bred horse 
and settled in a place remote from 
my home. There I met this woman, 
too late to be her husband, but not 
too late to love her. Close as¬ 
sociation at the bedside of the sick 
and homes of the poor, for she did 
much work among this class and was 
able financially to help many who 
fell into my hands, awoke in me a 
love for this woman that nothing 
could ever change. I who had been 
thrown with women all my life, who 
was already suffeited with the adula¬ 
tion and flatteries that come to those 
who work much among the sick and 
dying, the poor and miserable. 

She was different from all the wo¬ 
men I had ever met, this woman with 
the heart of gold, whose sweet eyes 
had in their depths strange shadows 
of sorrow, whose mind led her ever 
to uplift, and whose voice had always 
tenderest love notes for the children 


54 HIS GREAT TEMPTATION 

everywhere. By and by there came 
a time when I told her of my love. 
A new baby had come into the home 
of a poor woman near her own, and 
she in the glory of her youth and 
beauty, in the splendor of her charm¬ 
ing sweetness, had stayed with us 
while from the distance came to our 
ears strains of the dance music where 
she should have been one of the belles 
of the ball. 

I took her hand in mine as we walk¬ 
ed to her home and told her of my 
love and begged her to come with me 
to a new country, a strange place 
where none should know either of 
us and I mould make her my wife, 
she should be mine and mine alone. 

And there under the stars her eyes 
looked into mine and I saw in them 
the great deppth of love I longed for 
and before I could move for the very 
joy of the knowledge, she had snatch¬ 
ed away her hand and fled home, 
home to her babies, home to the life 
in which I had no part, where I was 
an intruder, a vandal. I did not try 
to follow, but that night I went home 
with a sweet happiness thrilling my 
heart and a cruel sorrow in my mind, 
sorrow that this peerless woman was 
no beter than the others and it lay 
with me to degrade her or not, as I 
liked. I could not sleep. I must 


HIS GREAT TEMPTATION 55 


face the situation. I must be worthy 
of that love and leave her in her puri¬ 
ty, or be unworthy and degrade her. 
When morning came I arose and went 
to the woods to think and decide. 

I was unworthy. At 9 o'clock I 
delided to stay and make her my own 
at any cost short of public disgrace. 
I lay down on the cool grass and 
slept and dreamed of my boyhood and 
my mother and the purity of her 
teaching and never of the woman un¬ 
der the stars. When I awoke my 
heart was tender, for my mother was 
in heaven but very, very, dear to the 
heart of her wayward son. 

That night I sought the woman 
with the lovelight in her eyes. She 
was at the home of the new born 
babe. She was serious, quiet, shy, 
tender, and altogether adorable, and 
a new adoration for her was born in 
my heart, and the sorrow in my mind 
deepened. The other children walk¬ 
ed home with us and I had no oppor¬ 
tunity to speak of our love but I 
knew it could wait. 

Weeks passed and I could not see 
her alone, it was maddening. She 
was so continually surrounded by 
others it was impossible to do more 
than become one of the crowd about 
her. I was getting desperate. I 
could not understand the quiet deter- 


56 HIS GREAT TEMPTATION 


mination of her face, however, my 
experience with other women consol¬ 
ed me. It was a trick to make me 
value her more highly and prize her 
favors the more. 

Finally one day I went to a picnic 
where I expected to see her. She 
was not there. Her eyes were hurt¬ 
ing, she had a headache, they told 
me and she could not stand the bright 
sunlight. I ate something, they 
crowded around me, but I pleaded an 
urgent call and slipped away. It was 
a long distance to her home but I 
knew my Kentucky horse. I gave him 
the reins and told him to go. 

I found her in a darkened room 
with a child’s garment in her hands. 
Before she realized I was in the room 
I had her in my arms. I poured in¬ 
to her ears the tale of my love, of its 
maddening power over me, and the 
bliss it would bring to me if she would 
go with me where she could be my 
wife and we should ne\er have to sep¬ 
arate, where she should be mine and 
her husband would have no uart in 
her life, for I was jealous of him and 
his possession of her. 

She freed herself, her eyes swim¬ 
ming in tears, her head erect, her 
whole being expressing love and sor¬ 
row. Facing me squarely she said: 

“I hoped this would not come. To 


HIS GREAT TEMPTATION 57 


a woman love means either marriage 
or dishonor. For us it can be 
neither.... ” 

I caught her again but freed her 
at sight of the pain in her eyes. 
Catching up her child she held him 
close in her arms, his head on her 
shoulder. He did not wake. Feeling 
herself protected she said: 

“I am this child’s mother. Today 
it matters nothing to him what I do 
so long as he finds his mother when 
he calls and is fed. The day will 
come, however, when he will demand 
a clean record of his mother and I 
must answer. Between you and me 
is not a man but a child. The wife 
would gladly yield herself to you, but 
the mother never. You must live 
your life where you will, mine must 
be lived for my son, and he shall not 
blush for his mother.” She slipped 
nearer and nearer the door as she 
held me with her eyes. She finished 
speaking as she passed through the 
door and closed it, leaving me alone 
in her bedroom beside the child’s 
empty bed. 

I realized now there was no co¬ 
quetry in the woman, she was earn¬ 
est, serious, simple. She had made 
her decision and was ready to stand 
by it regardless of consequences. Her 
child came first. She made no denial 


58 HIS GREAT TEMPTATION 


of her love and no excuse for it, but 
I who inspired it could have no part 
in her life. 

I had felt so confident she would 
come with me, so sure of my ability 
to win her over that I had already 
gathered together half of the money 
I thought necessary for the trip we 
would take to New York, where I 
would buy her clothes fit for a queen, 
and then we would go West and lose 
ourselves in the vastness of that 
great country and live a life of love 
and usefulness among a people who 
knew nothing of our past. My dreams 
were shattered and I stood dumb in 
the midst of the ruins. 

He He He He He He He 

I stayed on because I could not 
leave; a power stronger than my will 
held me in the same neighborhood 
with her. We met from time to time 
in the social whirl and occasionally in 
the homes of the poor but she care¬ 
fully avoided a possible meeting a- 
lone. We grew accustomed to the 
new order. Man like I had tried on 
a few occasions to break her will but 
each time she ran away and I knew 
there was no hope for my love. Still 
it was the sweetest thing in my life 
and I was so glad to find her sure and 


HIS GREAT TEMPTATION 59 

good that my love became purified 
by its trials. All other women 
seemed so ordinary beside her that 
my heart clung with strange tenacity 
to its idol and I accepted my fate. 

After a few years there was a fine 
opening for an active doctor in a 
Southern booming town and I left 
her. When I knew I would leave on 
the morrow I rode out and surprised 
her alone in the moonlight. There 
was time only for a brief good bye, 
she had guests and would soon be 
missed. I told her of my undying 
love and that I left her with God 
knowing he would keep her forever 
safe. I kissed her on the forehead 
and neck and left her huddled in a 
heap among the flowers in the moon¬ 
light without giving her time to say 
even good bye. I could not trust 
myself. 

Years passed, she had visited a few 
times in the city where I lived and I 
had spent a short time with friends 
in her country, so we had kept alive 
the love born in the glory of youth, 
still, manlike, the lure of lust crept in¬ 
to my life and stole away its sweet¬ 
ness, only the hallowed memory of 
her ran like a thread of gold through 
all my thinking, through all my 
dreaming. One fatal day I awoke to 
the fact I had contracted a loathsome 


60 HIS GREAT TEMPTATION 


disease. I went from doctor to doc¬ 
tor, when it failed to respond to my 
curative remedies. At last, however, 
a specialist told me as best he could 
there was no remedy for me only 
paliative treatment could offer me 
relief temporarily. 

My God, the horror of it, the aw¬ 
fulness of it! I tried to die and could 
not. I read and reread all the litera¬ 
ture I could find on the subject and 
realized there was no way but to 
meet the issue like a man and await 
the end. I dreamed of her more 
than ever. I saw her with my sist¬ 
ers and with all the bright and 
happy people who made her world, 
and hoped she would never hear of 
my awful fate, never know the un¬ 
worthiness of the man she had loved 
so faithfully, for I knew now plainer 
than ever before the great wealth 
and depth of her love, which was so 
deep, so holy she could not sin. 

The day that I was fifty years old 
she sent me a letter, so full of tender¬ 
ness, so vibrant with love and sym¬ 
pathy it was a though she sat with 
me as I read it. And in July she 
came to see me. She was so beauti¬ 
ful, her long black robes giving ad¬ 
ded height and dignity to her and her 
clear olive skin glowing warm and 
bright through the filmy black. She 


HIS GREAT TEMPTATION 61 

came in to me where I sat helpless 
in my chair. At sight of her the old 
gladness came back to my heart, the 
years seemed to roll away, the pains 
were forgotten in the joy of the meet¬ 
ing. As she advanced toward me, 
however, all the best and strongest 
arose in me and I made no effort to 
kiss her. She looked at me tears in 
her sweet eyes, and said: 

“My King, I heard you were 
sick, that you may never walk about 
much again, and I have come to you, 
to be to you now what once was im¬ 
possible. My husband is dead and 
my children are dead. I am alone, 
and I have come to give you myself 
and all that I can do to make bright 
the years that remain for us.” She 
stood beside my chair and ran her 
fingers lovingly through my hair. 
She was so close the perfume of her 
garments brought back to me the 
springtime and the glory of our 
youthful loving. 

“Sire, you do not speak. Don't you 
feel glad to have me come to you? 
You have been the love of my life, 
the king of my heart, my ideal, my 
good Love. I have come dearest to 
stay with you forever, to kneel at 
your feet, to rub you, to dose you, 
read to you, to cheer you, to love you 
and to serve you all the days of my 


62 HIS GREAT TEMPTATION 


life. To be to you infinitely more 
than you asked long ago.” She slip¬ 
ped her soft fingers under my chin 
and raised my face and looked into 
my eyes. 

My God, how wretched I felt! How 
damned! The only woman I had ever 
loved stood beside me begging to be 
my wife, to serve me, and because of 
my intrigues with other women who 
had been mere puppets, playthings 
for an hour or a day, I sat helpless, a 
loathsome, incurable wretch, a miser¬ 
able mass of abscessing flesh and 
aching bones. I took both her hands 
in mine and kissed them and they 
were wet with my tears. She patted 
me and talked on of what she would 
do for me and how bright she would 
make my life. Finally I said hoarse¬ 
ly, for the pain of it almost killed me: 

“Woman what you ask is impossi¬ 
ble. I can not let you stay with me. 
I forbid you to touch me. Sit over 
there in that chair and tell me of 
yourself and your plans.” Instantly 
she changed. 

“Darling, I have no plans but to 
take care of you and to do for you all 
the sweet things my heart dictates, 
that is all I want.” 

“It is impossible to talk of staying 
with me, Sweetness. No woman 
would look at me the second time. 


HIS GREAT TEMPTATION 63 


No woman has been in here except 
a negress and my two old friends, 
Mrs. Lakely and Mrs. Black, with 
their husbands. I am not fit for 
women to see or to touch. You must 
leave me.” 

“I will not leave you, and I will 
make your home so bright and cheer¬ 
ful everybody will want to come, and 
you shall be kept so sweet and clean 
they will all want to touch you. Oh, 
I can do wonders for you, dearest, 
and I want to make up to you for all 
these years you have wanted me.” 

God forgive me for the lie I told 
her and the pain it gave her for it 
almost killed both of us, but I thank 
God I had the manhood to say it. I 
will always respect myself for my 
courage at that time. I looked down 
at my wasted form and thin hands 
and said: 

“I will not marry you. It has been 
two years since I have touched a wo¬ 
man, even her hands, except the two 
old friends I told you of. Marriage 
to me is impossible and with a beauti¬ 
ful woman like you it would be mad¬ 
ness. Go, leave me alone in my mis- 
ery.” 

“But, dear, I want to marry you to 
look after you and care for you. You 
know I could not do it without mar- 


64 HIS GREAT TEMPTATION 


riage. It would make a scandal and 
that would grieve you.” 

“Woman, I tell you I will not mar¬ 
ry you—not for a thousand worlds 
would I marry you.” My voice was 
stern and cold, my manner determin¬ 
ed. There were tears in her sweet 
eyes but her figure was erect and her 
head high as she arose and said with 
sorrow and dignity: 

“I beg your pardon. Forget what 
I have said. I have made an awful 
mistake. I thought you still loved 
me and would be glad to have me 
come, and in your heart I know you 
are,” she tried to look into my eyes 
but I could not lift them, “but since 
you will not marry me I can not stay. 
I would serve you all the days of my 
life in love and gladness but I am the 
mother of pure angels and no shame 
shall come to me. Good bye.” There 
were tears in her voice now and she 
could not see. She pressed her hand¬ 
kerchief to her eyes proudly and after 
a moment of silence regained control 
of her voice. 

“Good bye for the last time, Sire. 
You shall never see me again. Re¬ 
member I count it no shame to have 
loved you with a love that sent me to 
you in sickness and helplessness, and 


HIS GREAT TEMPTATION 65 


if there be unworthiness it is not on 
my side. Good bye.” 

When she was gone all the warmth 
and brightness of the world seemed 
to follow her and though the July sun 
was shining hot and bright outside 
I was cold and shivered. I rang for 
the boy I had dismissed when she 
came. It was hours before I knew 
anything again but I had been a man. 

This is her picture, taken shortly 
after my first love-making. It is 
sweet, it is beautiful, but how inade¬ 
quate to express the loveliness of her, 
the charm of her, the sweetness of 
her who was never two minutes the 
same, sparkling as a dew drop and 
modest as a violet. God bless her 
wherever she is tonight and keep her 
sa^e under the shelter of thy wings. 
She is mine, Oh, God, and thine. Keep 
her forever, and in that glad clime 
where no disease is, give her to me 
in holiness and purity. 

This clipping and this picture is 
all I have. The clipping says she 
has founded a mission for the down 
and out men and women of a distant 
city. God bless her. 

******* 

The new day has come. It is cold, 
so cold. I am sleepy. There I turned 


66 HIS GREAT TEMPTATION 


the candle over and it has caught the 
clippings and the picture, but I am 
so sleepy I don’t care. 

* % sj« sfc Sfc * * 

When the man came in to dress him 
he found him dead, his head resting 
on the story of his love and the pict¬ 
ure and clippings burned beyond legi¬ 
bility. So, in life and in death the 
queen of his heart was known only to 
himself. 

Loving friends came in answer to 
the man’s excited message. A man 
who loved him best reached his side 
first and saw the story and took it 
away before the others realized what 
it was. The papers on the front page 
in double head lines told the sad story 
of the sudden ending of the life of the 
great man and distinguished surgeon, 
mentioning the fact that he had de¬ 
voted his life, his time, and his money 
to the success of his work and to the 
uplift and betterment of those about 
him in need of help. 

The sick and the needy came with 
bowed heads and tearful eyes to pay 
sad tribute to the good friend whose 
ready response to their needs had 
won their hearts’ best gold, and went 
away sorrowful understanding that 


HIS GREAT TEMPTATION 67 


now his ears were deaf to their cries 
for the first time. 

The people talked of how he had 
forgotten himself in administrating 
to others, and how for five years, 
though unable to take a step having 
to be lifted from bed to chair and 
back again, his head was clear and 
his diagnosis always correct, and his 
brother doctors brought their pa¬ 
tients to him for consultation when 
obscure and puzzling symptoms pre¬ 
sented. And friends and acquaint¬ 
ances told the distressing story of 
how he became infected with a horri¬ 
ble disease, rendering him physically 
helpless in the prime of his useful¬ 
ness, while operating upon a loath¬ 
some charity case. 

The woman in a distant city read 
the clippings with bowed head and 
tearful eyes, remembering to pray for 
the man who had died with a prayer 
for her on his lips. 

And the God who reads the hearts 
of all blesses each with grace and 
strength for the task at hand. So 
mote it be. 


Ella Miller Cheshire. 



































































































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